


All That Remains Unsaid

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Points of View, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26329171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: By Nienna Calaquendi.Speaking the truth may be difficult, but watching and waiting in silence is even more so. Frodo/Sam.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Kudos: 2
Collections: Least Expected





	All That Remains Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> >Disclaimer: I acknowledge that someone other than myself holds the copyright to these characters. No profit has been made from this story.  
>  Story Notes: Written in honor of LeLe's birthday. For you, me dear.

Frodo 

I watch him, and I wait for the right time to speak of these matters, though that time may never come. I must be cautious, for the last thing I would want is for Sam to feel uncomfortable around me. I couldn't bear it. 

If it wasn't for Sam, I would've lost my mind a hundred times over in the months after Bilbo left. Sam stepped neatly into the hole that Bilbo left in my life and filled those empty places with flowers and song and his vibrant presence. He was always there, and always about half a step ahead of me, knowing what I wanted or needed before I did--except in one particular area. He didn't know it was _him_ that I wanted and needed. 

He still doesn't know, and my feelings have only grown stronger. I find myself resenting the rainy days that keep Sam home and away from Bag End. I fidget endlessly whenever he leaves to run errands for the Gaffer. And each evening when he goes home--often after staying for dinner and sharing an ale by the fire--I realize just how desolate my life would be without him. 

I know Sam enjoys the companionship too, though not so much as I do, nor in the same way, I expect. He seems to like it when I wander outdoors to sit with him while he weeds the vegetables or trims the hedges, and I often do so. I express interest in what he's doing, inquire after various things, and follow his sure, graceful movements as he works. I notice the way his eyes sparkle when he talks about this plant or that project. Nothing about him escapes me. 

He doesn't know that many times I also watch him from indoors--a guilty pleasure, but there's no harm in it. Or so I tell myself. What I think about, what I wish... well, I'm sure it's not something he's ever considered, nor would he want to. His Gaffer raised him strict and even now he's pushing Sam toward Tom Cotton's sister every chance he gets. Not that Sam pays her much mind, but he will in time, I'm sure. 

Lady help me, I've begun to _want_ Sam, with a desire that sings deep in my blood and burns through me, body and soul. I can think of little else when he's near, but I do not know how I could ever tell him how I feel. I will not risk pushing him away, so I keep my thoughts to myself. 

I watch him on his knees in the flower beds, tending the plants carefully, nurturing them, and I imagine how those strong hands, work-roughened yet always gentle, would feel on my skin. I watch him when he sheds his shirt under the hot midday sun and imagine being held close to his sturdy chest with its patch of golden curls. I watch him doing heavy work, digging perhaps, admiring how the muscles in his powerful back flex and tense, and I daydream about what his lovemaking would be like. Somehow I know that he would be an attentive lover, tender and eager to please. 

I often wonder if he's ever laid down with anyone, and who she might be, and I torment myself with the thought. I force myself to keep busy while he works, only to find myself drawn irresistibly to the windows or door. I've even tried, on occasion, to avoid him--a futile exercise, for if I do not seek him out he will, without fail, show up when I least expect him. That does not mean that he longs for my company like I yearn for his; we're friends, nothing more. I cannot tell myself that his eyes light up when we talk because it's me sitting next to him. I cannot believe that I've seen him watching me out of the corner of his eye, nor think that he would ever feel anything more than friendship toward me. And most of all, I cannot allow myself to fall in love with him. 

But I'm afraid it may already be too late for that. 

* * *

Samwise 

I watch him, and I wait. I've been waitin' all my life, seemingly, but now I know what I was waitin' for. Him. I still wait for him to notice, to _know_ , but that'll come. I know it will. 

I've loved him from the moment I laid eyes on him, but at first it was just me bein' younger and him bein' so... well, the way he is. Beautiful, like I figure elves must look--never havin' seen one, mind you. And kind, educated, a real gentlehobbit. My sisters used to tease me 'bout followin' him 'round, but he never 'peared to mind. It weren't till much later on that I realized I _loved_ him, if you understand me. And I started to watch him, just a little when he weren't likely to notice. I still do. 

Mostly I watch him when he thinks I'm busy, but I'm never too busy to know where he is and what he's doin'. Sometimes I catch him sittin' at his desk starin' out the window 'stead of mindin' what he's supposed to be workin' on, or chewin' his nails like he's nervous. Makes me want to go and take him by the hand to stop him frettin', and I want to ask what's got him so wound up these days. I can't help but wonder. 

That's not all I wonder about, neither. In the deep part of the night, when I'm layin' in my bed all alone, wide awake, I wonder what the nights are like for him. I think about how sweet it would be just to hold him close if nothin' else. But I imagine more than that, more than I ought. I want to tangle my fingers in those lovely curls of his and kiss him till he's breathless. I want to learn all the little secret ways to give him pleasure and make him cry out my name. And most of all, I want to make sure he knows how much I love him. 

For I do, and I always will, and I don't much care anymore that we're both lads. There was I time I did, but no longer. I've heard enough talk to know such things happen, and Hobbiton folks have whispered that 'bout Mr. Bilbo for years. Mr. Frodo, he knows more than me 'bout everything else, so I figure he knows all 'bout that too, though I don't rightly know what he thinks of it himself. But one of these days, I'm gonna find out. 

There are times when I think about goin' up to him, settlin' in close and puttin' my arms around him, per'aps when he's readin' or just sittin' quiet. I don't think he'd mind. It might be what he needs, what we both need, 'cause this feelin' ain't goin' away. It keeps gettin' stronger, and I keep waitin', and I watch him lookin' lonely like he does and it near tears my heart out. One of these days, I'm gonna tell him how I feel. And if I can't tell him, I'll show him. 

I will. Soon. 

-end- 

24 April 2003


End file.
